


D&D Drabbles

by adexia



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dehydration, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Impalement, Kidnapping, M/M, Starvation, Whump, infected wounds, painful transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-10 16:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15295935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adexia/pseuds/adexia
Summary: Just what it says in the title.





	1. BTHB: Painful Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A barbarian encounters an oni, and uncovers a new power during the course of the battle.
> 
> Fill #2 for Bad Things Happen Bingo

Something has been stealing children from a village down the mountain, and Devlin intends to put an end to it. Since returning home in search of his wayward boyfriend (and leaving said boyfriend to pursue his own path for the time being), he’s put his mind to training and defense of the small mountain community, of Skyrest and the Temple of Dammas and all the small villages and towns surrounding it.

And as an ex-soldier, he can’t just let innocents go missing on his watch.

It takes him about half a day to trek down to the village of Cliffwatch, and the rest of the evening is spent gathering further information from the locals. No one has seen it happen, but every few nights, a child is stolen from their bed.

“I’ll keep an eye out tonight,” he promises a father in a small gathering of terrified parents, clapping the man on the shoulder. “Do your best to stick to your usual routine. If anything is amiss, I’ll put an end to it.”

The villagers disperse, feeling reassured either by his demeanor or his greataxe, and Devlin sets about finding a good watchpoint. He eventually settles on the cliff for which the village is named, and when dusk falls, he places himself there, glad his consumption of dragon’s blood many months ago had granted him better nighttime vision.

As the moon rises, his vision rapidly adjusts, and he watches the village folk wrap up their tasks for the day and retire to their homes. He watches each building and the main roads, keeping his focus tight as the night wears on.

Movement catches his eye, and he snaps his head around, focusing intently. There, he spots a dwarf--possibly one of the miners he’d spoken to from the outskirts, though he can’t be certain. The dwarf peers inside a window, then hefts themselves up and inside. Devlin holds his breath, watching intently. Moments later, the dwarf re-emerges, holding a still bundle of blankets under one arm before taking off towards the mine.

That’s all the proof Devlin needs. He stands and takes off in the same direction--if the miner has been taking children for a while, the others could still be alive. He just doesn’t want to think of what’s being done with them.

“Stop there,” Devlin barks once he catches up with the dwarf. He turns, and Devlin sees a sleeping child poking out of the bundle. “Drop the child and step away.”

The dwarf sneers. “And who does this one think he is?” he demands, standing up as straight and tall as a dwarf can. “A mighty hero, come to free the smallfolk?”

“That’s exactly who I am,” Devlin answers, removing his greataxe from its straps and hefting it in his arms. “And this is your last chance to surrender peacefully.”

The dwarf throws his head back and laughs, high-pitched and eerie compared to his speaking voice. As the sound echoes around, he starts to change, growing taller, broader--bluer.

Devlin mentally curses himself for not bringing any backup. He doesn’t know how well he can fare against an oni.

The oni tosses the child aside like a doll, white hair billowing out behind him in the mountain wind. “Perhaps you will see your folly while I feast upon your flesh,” he crows, stepping forward to loom over Devlin by several feet.

Devlin decides to answer with his weapon rather than his words, swinging the heavy axe around and slicing into the oni’s chest. Black blood spurts forth and the oni howls in rage and pain, returning the blow with a swipe of his claws.

Neither combatant gives any ground, though Devlin feels the battle starting to wear on him. With a fierce roar almost like that of a dragon, he lets his frustration and anger erupt into a rage--and pain erupts from his forehead.

Devlin would’ve fallen to his knees in shock were it not for the bloodlust now coursing through his body. He feels something growing from his head, something hard and heavy. At the same time, pain flares in his lower back and across his skin as he continues to smash his axe into the oni’s body. His tail--his _tail?!_ \--lashes behind him, slamming into the rocky ground. A swipe of the claws that should have sliced his skin glances off toughened scales. The oni moves in a bit too close and he slams his head into his chest, sending him staggering back with whatever growths are there now.

The pain is nearly unbearable, but he’s borne worse. He opens his mouth with another roar, sending a jet of bright blue lightning out at his opponent. The oni shrieks as the bolts crackle around his body, bringing him to his knees. Devlin rushes forward with only a half-second’s thought, leaping off the giant’s thigh and bringing his axe down and through his neck in one brutal swipe.

He stands panting, watching the lifeless head slowly roll onto its side. His rage fades in a moment, and there’s a fresh burst of pain as whatever transformation he’s just undergone undoes itself. He collapses to all fours, biting his lip bloody to keep from screaming out.

The tail recedes first, sending jolts of pain racing up his spine as it shortens and contracts. His skin burns as the scales melt back into his body, leaving an unpleasant tingling sensation where they just were. The horns start to melt back into his skull, leaving his head pounding worse than any headache he’s had before in his life. He gasps and spits blood onto the rocky ground, instinctively slamming one of the horns into the stone to try and make it go away faster.

The pain dulls after a moment, though his skin, back, and head still feel like they’re all about to explode. He forces himself to sit back on the rough terrain, holding his throbbing head in his hands and trying to will the agony away.

“Takashi is going to hate this,” he mutters after a few minutes, before forcing himself to his feet and seeing to the abducted child.

\---

He carries the still-sleeping child with him as he continues down the path the oni had been making, setting them down only when he uncovers a well-hidden entrance into a cavern not far from the mine. He squeezes inside, squinting in the gloom, and is overwhelming relieved to see wooden cages with all the missing children inside--frightened, but uninjured and miraculously still alive. He breaks them open easily and escorts his charges back to the village, carrying more than a few.

He wakes the villagers, reuniting families before showing some of the guards to the felled oni. They debate what to do with the monster, eventually deciding to push it off the mountainside for carrion birds to find. Devlin is only too happy to assist.

He gratefully accepts an offer of a bed for the night, and makes his way home, stiff and very sore from his transformation.


	2. BTHB: Take Me Instead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some sweethearts get ambushed and things do not go well.
> 
> Fill #5 for Bad Things Happen Bingo

It’s the first true day of spring, the first warm and pleasant day since winter began to recede, so the three sweethearts decide to go for a quick stroll along a mountain ridge together: Rachel in the middle, with Takashi and Devlin on either side, alternately holding her hand or pointing out something neat for her to look at.

It would’ve been a nice way to spend the day if they hadn’t been attacked by a party of dragonborn in tarnished, dark armor.

With nods of understanding to each other, the men urge Rachel to hide behind an outcropping of rocks and simultaneously spring into action, Devlin swinging his axe in wide, brutal arcs and Takashin delivering precise jabs with his staff and fists. The two of them put up a good fight, but the assailants outnumber them, and they are soon at their limit.

Devlin is grabbed from behind as he sways on the spot, dizzy from a blow to the head. “We’ll take this one!” the dragonborn holding him barks. “Leave the others!”

Devlin grits his teeth, trying to throw off the arms around him. “Get your hands off--” He’s cut off with a sharp gasp as another dragonborn rushes forward to grasp his wrists and yank them behind his back.

Takashi lunges forward to assist him without thinking, but a third knocks him onto his back back with a sweep of his tail, placing a taloned foot on his chest to hold him down. “Null is sure to be pleased,” he hisses, tail swaying excitedly.

Null--Takashi knows that. He remembers that one of his god’s enemies is the draconic god of death and undeath. He shoves up against the dragonborn pinning him down, but he’s stuck fast, watching helplessly as Devlin’s wrists are bound with rope. “No!”

“Ugh, all the fight’s gone out of him now,” a dragonborn mutters, shoving Devlin onto the ground with his leg. “We sure we want him?”

“It’s fine!” another shoots back. “Won’t matter in the end, anyway.”

Takashi struggles harder to get up. “No, let him go!” he shouts, watching Devlin’s blank stare and noticing his prone form shivering. Devlin might have come a long way from the frightened and angry survivor who stumbled into town over a year ago, but it was obvious some things couldn’t be gotten over. “I--I’m who you want, I’m a devotee of Dammas! Take me instead!”

Six heads turn to focus on him. Takashi swallows heavily. “He doesn’t follow Dammas. Whatever you’re planning, he won’t make Null as happy as I would.”

The one that seems to be the leader licks her lips. “Sounds like a good tradeoff to me,” she says, then points at Takashi. “Get him instead, then.” The others leave Devlin and Takashi is flipped over, his hands bound behind his back with a length of coarse rope. One of them heaves him up over his shoulder and they start to trek back down the mountain.

Takashi realizes Devlin’s still lying bound and he starts to struggle. “Wait, aren’t you gonna untie him?”

“Let your little non-fighter friend take care of it,” the leader says dismissively. Takashi watches in despair as Devlin shrinks in the distance, only relaxing when he just barely sees Rachel rushing out of her hiding place to tend to him.

Now he just has to figure out how to get out of this mess on his own.

\---

Devlin’s mind goes blank the instant he feels cold and scaley hands around his wrists. He’s suddenly back in the place he escaped from befire, being escorted--where to never matters, really. When his wrists are bound with rope, and when he’s pushed to the rough and dusty ground, he doesn’t even flinch.

It isn’t until he feels his wrists freed again that he starts to come back around. Rachel is saying something, but the fog is still trying to clear from his mind. He blinks, slowly looking up into her concerned face. “What… happened?” he mumbles.

Rachel holds his face gently and presses her forehead to his. He closes his eyes, calmed by the gesture. “They took Takashi,” she says. “We need to get help.”

Devlin struggles to his feet, still head-thick and coming out of his haze, but his need to protect his sweethearts is strong. “I-I’ll go,” he says, stooping to pick up his axe. It feels far too heavy in his trembling and sweaty hands. “I can do it.” The idea of going to face the group who were so easily able to subdue him makes him feel sick, but he has to.

Rachel grabs his bicep gently. “Devlin, Takashi wouldn’t want you to go in there,” she says firmly. “Not with how that affected you. Let Esti do it--she can more than handle some overgrown wyrmlings.” Devlin looks her in the eye, sees the fear there--fear for his own safety, and for the stolen member of their trio. He nods slowly, and she relaxes her grip. “Let’s hurry back, then. I’ve got you.” She turns him around and they head back up the path towards town.

\---

Esti is understandably livid when Rachel relays what happened, and she spends a few minutes rapidly slithering around her infirmary and gathering supplies while unmistakably swearing in her native tongue. “Both of you stay put,” the yuan-ti druid commands, and then she’s out the door on the warpath.

“She’ll get him back,” Rachel assures Devlin, who is lying curled on a cot and idly scratching at his wrist. She pulls his hand away, holding it gently. “Takashi’s gonna be pissed if he sees you scratching again.”

Devlin grunts noncommittally, but he forces himself to stop, despite the deeply uncomfortable lingering sensations on his wrists.

Fortunately, they don’t have to wait very long. Dusk has barely begun to fall when Esti slithers back in to the infirmary, an unconscious Takashi slung over her shoulder, both only slightly worse for wear than they left. Esti heaves the monk onto a cot and mutters a spell over him.

Takashi sits up suddenly, wincing in pain when his aches come to the forefront. “Oh, jeez,” he groans, lying back down. Devlin and Rachel are at his side to fuss over him in an instant, while Esti backs off to give them space.

“Gods but you’re so stupid,” Devlin says, hugging Takashi tightly. “You could’ve gotten killed.”

Takashi returns the hug, patting him awkwardly on the back. “You were freaking out!” he says. “I couldn’t just let you be freaked out.”

Rachel wraps her arms as far around her boys as she can, kissing each on the cheek. “I’m just glad everyone’s alive.”

Devlin nuzzles her cheek gently, then sighs, sitting down on the edge of the cot and staring down at his lap. “...I think it’s time I told you two what happened to me.”


	3. Backstory Spotlight: Karaska

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The incident that lead up to an NPC's joining up with a (less than good) paladin's party.

Karaska had been on a hunting trip with some other members of his clan when it happened. The orc set out on his own one afternoon with his raptor, a white-feathered and fiercely loyal creature named Rabbit, seeking to confirm the location of some deer the party had spotted previously. They would tomorrow and take the hides and meat back home the day after.

As the daylight grew dim, Karaska’s eyes adjusted quickly. The deer would likely not spot the duo in the dark, but it would nevertheless be dangerous to go hunting them at night, lest it attract other nighttime predators.

The moon was visible above the treetops when Karaska located the herd of deer. They were moving through the woods along a suspected trail that’d been formed by generations of herds walking that same track. Karaska watched them silently for a moment and took mental note of some landmarks, then started making his way back to the camp.

He must have made a misstep, going through the unfamiliar terrain after dark. He didn’t notice the gorge, hidden by an overhanging bunch of roots. His foot slipped on a loose patch of earth, and before he knew it, Karaska was tumbling down the almost-shear slope. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out in surprise and grasped wildly at the cluster of roots, but they broke off in his grip and he plummeted.

He felt a stabbing pain in his leg and a sharp crack to his skull, and the world went completely dark.

\---

When Karaska opened his eyes again, it was to a misty, pre-dawn world. Rabbit was chattering and screeching in alarm somewhere above--were they under attack? Without thinking, he tried to leap to his feet, but something ground against--inside--his leg. He snarled in pain and fell back, squeezing his eyes shut. He remembered the fall. Must’ve broken his leg. He could make a splint and limp back to the camp with Rabbit’s help.

He opened his eyes again and sat, more carefully this time, to assess the damage. Well… His leg was almost certainly broken, but his landing had impaled the limb on a jagged rock, and it was twisted at the knee. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to block out the pain that only increased as he awoke further. He just had to free himself. In the meantime, Rabbit could fetch the others.

“Rabbit!” he barked, craning his neck to see above him. The upset chattering ceased, and Rabbit stuck her head out over the lip of the gorge, looking down with one golden eye. “Get the rest of the party. I’m hurt.” The raptor made a high-pitched whining and edged closer, claws gripping at the overhang of roots.

Karaska, for the only time in his life, regretted having such a loyal companion. Rabbit leapt down into the gorge alongside him, landing with a stumble but unharmed. She skittered across the debris and to her master’s side, scolding him with chuffs and chirps. “Rabbit, no,” Karaska muttered, stroking her feathered head. “I need you to get help. Fetch Songok and Mol.”

Rabbit’s head pricked a bit at the command, but stayed put. She was clearly not going to abandon her master. Karaska sighed. “...Stand guard,” he ordered. This she was willing to do; with a chirrup, she turned and trotted a few yards away, keeping lookout towards the entrance to the gorge.

Karaska turned his focus to his immediate predicament. The pain was worsening with every moment of awareness, and his head was beginning to throb as well. The bites he’d given himself on his tongue and lip were not helping matters either. He had to get himself out of here.

He tried lifting his leg off the rocky spike, but shifting it upwards just tore at his flesh, and he couldn’t bear the pain long enough to get it off in one go. The stone was too tall to go inch by inch as well--he simply couldn’t hold his leg up for that long.

He leaned forward as far as he could manage and grasped the stone above where it protruded, and tried to wrench the upper part off. No such luck; he only managed to cut up his palms.

After shredding part of his shirt to wrap up his hands, Karaska spent a few minutes considering his belt-knife. A one-legged hunter was still better than a dead one, right? But he realized there was no way it could cut through the bone.

He simply had to wait for rescue. His hunting party would have definitely noticed his absence by now and started searching.

\---

It was three days before Karaska realized help was not going to come for him. He’d yelled himself hoarse the first day, hoping to direct his fellows to his location, but as far as he could tell all that did was startle some birds. He’d tried firing his crossbow bolts into the sky, but they didn’t seem to attract anything. Rabbit helpfully brought him small game, but even orcs couldn’t stomach raw meat for long, and he instead tossed the catches for Rabbit to catch. His bigger problem was water. It had rained on the second day, but he hadn’t gotten enough droplets in his mouth to keep thirst at bay for long.

The pain was the worst part of it. He couldn’t tune it out long enough to sleep through the night or even distract himself by thinking of his home.

By the fifth day, he was prone on his back and delirious. Infection had set into his injuries, and the lack of food and water had started to finally take its toll. Some lucid part of his feverish mind kept going back to the knife tucked into his belt.

Karaska was drifting, staring unfocused at the tangle of roots over what he now thought of as his final resting place, when he heard Rabbit make an excited trilling noise and dash off through the gorge, probably in pursuit of a small animal. Just as well; she didn’t need to see her master suffer like this any longer. With a grunt of effort, he pushed himself up to sitting and grasped at the hilt of his knife with his sweaty palm.

While still trying to work up the nerve to stop the suffering there and now, he realized he was hearing voices. Finally hallucinating, it seemed. Better get it overwith. He closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer to the Master Tracker as he fought to keep a grip on his knife.

The voices grew closer, were accompanied by footsteps. Karaska opened his eyes to meet the fever-ghosts, and saw a short figure clad in gold and pink rushing towards him. He blinked rapidly, trying to make out what he was seeing. A dwarf?

A brown, calloused palm rested itself on his cheek, and he closed his eyes to lean into the touch. Imaginary or not, it felt pleasantly cool on his feverish skin. “You poor dear,” a warm and deep voice rumbled next to him. “We’ll get you out of this.”

There was a snap of breaking stone, and he was lifted in strong, cold, very solid arms, off of the spike. The pain sliding through his leg was the last thing he felt before losing consciousness.

\---

Karaska awoke some time later. He didn’t yet open his eyes, but he did his best to take in his surroundings. Someone had wrapped him in several blankets, and there was a warm pillow beneath his head. A fire was crackling nearby and he smelled cooking meat. He had to be dead, right? To feel so comfortable now after slowly dying in agony? Maybe at the end there he’d been taken by spirits.

He tried to shift to a more comfortable position, but moving his leg sent pain racing through his body and he gasped, eyes snapping open. Rabbit was curled up by his side, watching him intently. And above him was a brown-skinned dwarf wrapped in gold and pink robes, smiling gently. “Look who’s awake,” he rumbled, in the deep voice he’d heard before. “Don’t try to move just now, poor man. You’re still in quite bad shape.”

“Alright,” Karaska said, blinking up at who was apparently his savior. He wouldn’t question it for now. He heard the dwarf shift slightly, and as his pillow moved, he realized he was resting on his lap. “Who are you?”

“Call me Fancy, dear,” the dwarf said. “Your friend found us.” He gestured to Rabbit, who chirped at the acknowledgement and nestled into Karaska’s side. “Good thing, too. I suspect you would’ve died before much longer had we taken a different path through the woods.”

Karaska made a small grunt of agreement and turned his head on Fancy’s lap, looking out over this new location. His rescuers had set up camp in a small clearing. There looked to be a woman with glowing gold eyes, some kind of iron-bound golem standing guard, and a young lizardfolk gathered on the other side of the fire, giving Fancy and Karaska their own space for now. Beyond them, he saw two wagons full of goods, and four horses picketed nearby.

“If you’re hungry, there’s soup,” Fancy said. “Fable didn’t think you could handle much more than that, and I’m inclined to agree, given the state you were in.”

“Soup’s fine,” Karaska said. Fancy carefully eased himself out from under Karaska’s head and replaced his lap with an actual pillow that smelled as if it had a lavender sachet tucked inside. Surprisingly, he found that the lap had been more comfortable.

Fancy went to the fire, filled a bowl from the kettle there, and returned to Karaska’s side. He knelt back down and helped Karaska to a sitting position, warm hands a solid support at his back. “Fable will want to speak with you when you feel up for it, by the way,” Fancy said as Karaska inhaled the soup straight from the bowl. After five days with only raw hares, he was grateful for anything that was cooked. “We’re… adventurers, of a sort, and she thinks you could be a good addition to the team when you’re healed up.”

Karaska set the bowl aside, flexing his healing hands carefully. It felt like healing magic had been worked on him, but he knew from experience there was only so much that could be done out of the heat of battle. “I need to return to my clan,” he said. “I was separated from my hunting party. They must have been unable to find me.”

A troubled expression crossed Fancy’s face. “Well, if we can, I’m sure Fable will help you return home.” He glanced over to the woman on the other side of the fire, whose eyes continued to burn golden in the increasing darkness as she watched them. “She’ll insist you hear her out, at least.”

Karaska grunted and shifted to lie back down, feeling exhausted again already after sitting for so brief a time. He heard Fancy moving back near where he’d been before. He closed his eyes and started drifting off again, waking only briefly when he felt Fancy’s hand gently petting his hair. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stick with this group for a bit after all.


	4. BTHB: Grabbed by the Chin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vasha finds himself in a compromising position, and tries very hard to use his charm to get out of it.
> 
> Fill #9 for Bad Things Happen Bingo: Grabbed by the Chin

Vasha comes to on a cold floor, blinking slowly as he tries to figure out what’s happening without alerting anyone to his wakefulness. His arms are pulled behind his back uncomfortably, and he tries to shift them forward--bound with rope, so that’s not a good start. He doesn’t seem to be hurt, though, even though his head is foggy and he doesn’t recall quite how he got here. His face is positioned such that his good eye is looking mostly at the floor and he can’t see around his nose. _Let’s start with this._

The floor is polished wood, and seems to be lit by wall sconces, if the reflections indicate anything. That narrows it down a little; if he’s still in the same city, this is probably a noble. His heart thrills at the thought that they might have found whoever’s behind the abductions--and then flutters anxiously at the thought that he’s their target. Whoops.

He’s sure his party will come find him. Nothing to worry about.

He hears a door open and footsteps approach, so he quickly closes his eyes and pretends he hasn’t woken up yet. The charade is put to a quick end as he feels the toe of a boot nudging him gently. He feigns just waking up, opening his eyes once again and looking up into the face of his captor.

The nobleman smiles, squatting down so Vasha can see him better. “My, aren’t you a pretty thing?” he asks, reaching a hand out to stroke his white hair.

Vasha forces a smile in return, though the contact makes his skin crawl. “I could say the same to you!” he says. Flattery has gotten him out of countless scrapes; maybe it’ll work this time too. With a grunt of effort, he shuffles around til he can get himself sitting up.

The noble lets his hair drop away, moving his hand to grab Vasha by the chin, turning his face this way and that to view it from all angles. “You’ll make a very pretty pet for someone,” he says. “A full-blooded drow might sell for more, but half can do just fine. I’m tempted to keep you for myself, you know. Have you sit at my feet and play music for me all day.”

Vasha’s disgust mounts as he realizes this man, this slave trader, must have been watching him since his party came into the city. “Oh, but ser, you could have asked me!” he says. “I would gladly present myself for your entertainment, if you would only ask.” He flutters his eyelashes as his captor makes him tilt his head coquettishly.

The noble’s smile softens. “And such sweet words you speak as well,” he says. “And perhaps I would have asked you, if I thought I could keep you all to myself.” His hand trails down to Vasha’s throat, and he swallows heavily. It’s getting more difficult to keep his nerves under control. “Gods, but you would look stunning with a silver and sapphire choker here, don’t you think?”

“Why don’t you untie me?” Vasha asks, tilting his neck back, playing up his vulnerabilities for this abhorrent person before him. “We could see how all sorts of things would look on, or off, of my body.”

The noble chuckles, reaching into a pocket for something. “My dear pet, I think you talk far too much,” he says. “Your nectar may lure in honeybees, but I am a spider.” Before Vasha has a chance to move away, a thick wad of cloth is forced between his teeth, and he breathes in a lungful of the noble’s pungent perfume as he leans forward to tie it behind his head.

The noble leans back once Vasha is securely gagged, taking hold of his chin again to admire his handiwork. “Now, this is only a temporary solution,” he says, ignoring Vasha’s hateful glare. “But there are more permanent ones I can commission.” Vasha tries to jerk his head away, but the grip on his chin grows tight and painful as the noble runs his thumb under the pearl-blind eye he takes his surname from. “I haven’t yet decided if I want to keep you or not, by the way. Someone else might opt to simply cut out your tongue… So maybe you ought to try to be more charming for me?” He smiles.

 _I will curse your lineage once I’m out of here,_ Vasha thinks, furiously trying to come up with ways to escape. _Your entire family line, your ancestors--the most insulting ballads imaginable._

The noble rises to his feet. “Wait here for me, won’t you, my pet?” he asks. “I have a few inquiries to make.” He pets his hair and turns, exiting the bare room and shutting the door behind him. Vasha hears a lock click.

He’s midway through debating if he can chew through the gag or not when he hears a surprised shout from the other side of the door. He looks up sharply and hears a body hit the floor, followed by the sound of something large and heavy pounding on it.

Seconds later, a lizardfolk with a targe shield comes charging in, stopping short of Vasha. He practically wilts in relief, recognizing them and gnome that comes hurrying after. “Vasha!” the lizardfolk, Steel-Scales, cries out, stooping to kneel by him. “So here you are!”

“Here, let me.” His gnomish friend pulls out one of her knives, cutting the gag and pulling it out before getting to work on the rope. “You make a pretty good-looking damsel in distress, I gotta say.”

Vasha laughs weakly. “Thanks, Maya. I do my best.” His hands are quickly freed, and Steel-Scales helps him to his feet.

“That louse was _completely_ unprepared,” Scales scoffs, looking behind. Vasha leans over to see the noble, bleeding from probably three or four stab wounds. “I mean, nobody expects a gnome to fall on them from the ceiling, but.” They shrug.

“You can tell me all about your daring rescue when we get out of here,” Vasha says, and allows his friends to lead him back to safety.


End file.
